Drunken Declarations
by Delorita
Summary: A drunk Face tells Hannibal he's in love with him. Hannibal wants him but doesn't believe him cos of the alcohol. Once sober, Face has to prove it. Slash.


A/N: This is written for a prompt at A-team prompts in LJ: "A drunk Face tells Hannibal he's in love with him. Hannibal wants him but doesn't believe him cos of the alcohol. Once sober, Face has to prove it."

It's Hannibal's POV and it's totally inspired by Bradley's Phil from "The Hangover". Big thanks go to my dear KJ for betaing and encouragement.

**o0o0o0o0o0o**

Face looks absolutely delicious and I want him.

He _sounds _absolutely delicious and my dick's twitching at the huskiness of his damn voice.

He's totally hung over and I want him anyway.

It's just…he doesn't know that.

He thinks I'm one hundred percent straight.

He told me that _he_ wants _me_. Badly.

That he's fucking IN LOVE with me.

He'd never have told me if he hadn't been absolutely drunk the other night, New Years Eve.

I was drunk too, just not as much as him.

We even fucking _danced_ together.

He dances and jumps around all the time when we celebrate successful missions, but usually with H.M., not with me.

He felt incredible in my arms. All hard muscle and sweaty skin and warm lips.

Yeah, he even kissed me; trailed his talented tongue down my neck.

I wanted to yell at him _go on… god, Face, please go on, please, don't stop!_

But we'd clearly had too much Champagne, Whiskey, beer and Scotch or whatever, and I didn't want our first time to be like that, didn't want the risk that he probably wouldn't remember.

Didn't want the risk that it won't be the truth…

It was way after midnight when he pulled me onto the dance floor. The other guests just as drunk off their ass as we were. Men dancing with men, women the same. So we were on safe ground.

"You kn…you know, Jo…Han…Hannibal…" he hiccupped, holding his champagne glass out to me, like in a toast. His curls had fallen onto his forehead, totally messed up. "…I th…I think…I'm…Iaminlovewithyou." He'd slurred it into my ear, buried his face into my neck, laughing. He pressed himself so close to me that I felt his half hard cock against my thigh, through our jeans.

He normally never gets that drunk. It must have been the meds that still coursed through his system after a recent injury. I held him up, took the glass from him and led him outside; otherwise he'd have kissed me for real out in the open, amongst all those people.

Once in the dark, he did go for my mouth and actually didn't miss. It was an absolutely delicious kiss, all hungry and sloppy and passionate, his hands grabbing my hair as though he'd have to hang on for dear life.

I'd dreamed about that for months but didn't dare to say or do anything. After all, he'd always dated _women. _I kissed him just as fiercely, enjoying every second, promising myself that we'd have to have a talk about it once we were sober.

As abruptly as the kiss had started, it abruptly ended, because he'd fallen asleep in my arms.

**o0o0o0o0**

Now we're sitting on the sofa in my apartment, holding ice packs to our heads.

And he groans, again.

"Holy fuck, Hannibal," he blinks at me, trying to block the light out. "What the fuck did they give us to drink?" He slowly lowers himself down on his back, open shirt revealing his naked torso, both legs up, feet on the back rest, knees bent, and jeans stretching tightly over his ass... he's begging to be fucked. At least in my head.

I groan, too.

What am I gonna say?

"It's probably a result of the alcohol mixing with your meds," I say lowly, glad for the sweat pants I had put on while he was dead to the world.

"But you've got one of these, too." He waves his ice pack at me and tries a smile.

I smile back. I feel all fuzzy, like a fucking teenager because of his revelation and the kiss last night. But I decide to say nothing, not yet. Since we have the day off, there's plenty of time. I want to get rid of this headache first.

I can't make myself get up. My thoughts are whirling. It's way easier to concentrate on a plan for a mission than this sudden mess.

Maybe I won't say anything at all? Wait to see what he'll do? Wait to see if that was real? But then, I'm not getting any younger…

I light the last cigar from the box on the table, inhale deeply.

He closes his eyes and dozes off again.

Time for me to admire the view some more.

God, my fingers twitch. I feel an unbelievable urge to touch him.

It's like my world has completely _shifted on its axis_. Face and I have been best friends for an eternity; trust each other with our lives, depend on each other in our line of duty.

I thought I knew him inside out. It _never _occurred to me that he'd share the same preferences as I do. Well, make that one preference for me.

Him.

I haven't been with another man since that fatal mission five years back when I almost lost him. When a bullet missed his heart by mere inches, when I had to face the fact that he might have been torn from me, whipped out of my life…

"Boss…," his utterly hoarse voice rips me out of my reverie.

I instantly get up. I have to make up my mind. I can't sit that close anymore, not with him there, half naked. The new information flicked on a switch in my gut, in my brain. I'm not able to control my dick anymore. I had that under control for so many years, thinking he was straight.

"I'll get us a pill," I murmur and flee into the kitchen.

He follows me.

Fuck.

"Boss?" he starts again, making the single word a question, combing through his totally messed up hair with his hand. "Did I do something stupid last night?" he asks lowly.

My heart's thumping in my chest, picking up speed. I busy my suddenly shaking hands with filling two glasses with water.

"Depends on how you define stupid," I hear myself say, holding out a glass towards him, along with the pill in my outstretched hand.

He takes both, accidentally brushing my fingers with his, and I'm on fire.

Double Fuck.

He throws the pill in his mouth, gulps the water down and tosses his head back to swallow it all together.

My gaze is fixed on his Adam's apple.

I have to turn around.

The wind's icy on the balcony, and it helps to clear my head. I'm smoking slowly. I didn't close the door to the kitchen. I do want to talk to him after all, but I'm just still unsure how.

"Hannibal…I…I'm sorry." He comes closer but stops, still inside.

My heart is sinking.

"I really don't remember a god damn fucking thing," he mutters under his breath and I instantly feel better. So not all hope lost then.

I face him again, step back inside and close the door behind me.

"You hungry?" I need something to distract myself with.

"Yeah, a bit." He opens the fridge and bends to look into it. My glance zeroes in on his jeans clad ass again.

Shit.

He takes out the ham and eggs, balancing them over to the counter.

"Can you give me a hint?" he asks throatily, placing his sweet arse right beside the food on the counter. "You're acting strange, Boss. What did I do?"

I busy myself with taking out the pan and turning on the stove. This is actually starting to be fun. I wink at him and can't help a grin, "You know what, kid?"

He looks at me expectantly, eyes still blood shot. He licks his dry bottom lip and I actually want to eat him and not breakfast, but I force myself to be calm. "I make breakfast and you try to remember."

He huffs a little, scratching the back of his head, and then turns to make coffee since the coffee maker is beside him. When the water is almost through he ponders more to himself, "Did we dance?"

I take a deep breath.

"Boss?"

I can only nod my head, eyes on the ham and eggs, stirring.

"Wait…wait…" He jumps from the counter, wincing when his head doesn't take too well to that, then starts to pace.

"_We…_ actually danced together…" He looks at me sideways, his hand strokes over his mouth in that nervous gesture of his, which I know so very well.

I turn the stove off, breakfast now the last thing on my mind.

My gut clenches and my heart beat speeds up.

I need another cigar but I don't want to move. I cross my arms over my chest and only look at him in, what I hope, is a calm way.

"AC/DC…then…someone new…" He takes two mugs and pours us coffee.

I groan inwardly. Not even I remember that.

"_HOLY SHIT!" _He looks at me, his eyes wide, the remains of the coffee spilling over. He puts the jug on the counter with shaking hands then turns fully towards me. Pure shock written on his face.

I'm not sure if this is a good or bad sign. I don't know what to do so I grab a mug and take a sip, my eyes never leaving my beautiful bewildered, shocked boy.

"Oh fuck, Boss…" His hands are in his hair, over his mouth, his eyes. He's a bundle of nerves. "I didn't… I haven't… have I?" He actually blushes.

And I falter. I still don't know what he actually remembers... his declaration of love or just the kiss, or something else completely.

I put the mug down and step a bit closer.

He leans against the counter, muttering again, "I'm sorry."

I can't take it anymore. I step into his personal space, grab his biceps and make him look at me. "What exactly did you just remember?"

"I thought I dreamed that." He hesitates, blue eyes blazing, uncertain. "I think I told you…" Face casts his glance down again. His hands clenching. "I told you that I'm…that I'm in love with you and…Oh fuck, Hannibal…I kissed you?" He finally meets my gaze.

"You didn't dream that, Temp." I don't recognize my voice. I want to kiss him right now but I _need_ to know if he really means it.

"You're not angry?" He sounds like a little boy and I can only shake my head.

"Do you mean it?" I ask huskily, voice actually shaking.

Disappointment colours his voice, "You're straight."

"I kissed you back," I mutter.

He straightens up, "You did?" He blinks, closes his eyes, frowns, remembering the last bit. "You did. Oh fuck."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means…"

He's kissing me again, gripping my head tightly, pressing his full muscular frame against me. My body tells him all he needs to know.

"…I _do _love you, John Smith."

"I'm in love with you too, Templeton Peck." And it feels so extraordinarily good to say it out loud. For the first time ever I can stroke his wild hair out of his forehead without him being sick, can stroke his cheek, his stubbly jaw. My thumb's caressing his inviting bottom lip and I sigh deeply because the pressure of a whole decade has been lifted from me.

His hands are on my arms, stroking up and down. He smiles unsure at me... the totally full-of-himself conman, being reduced to an insecure boy.

Time for me to finally kiss him.

F I N (If you are interested in the extended version of this, please go to my LJ. Same username :D)


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